Batman: the Long Road
by Finmonster
Summary: Bruce Wayne suffered a great tragedy at a young age. He swore that no one else would ever have to go through what he did. But in order to make good on his promise, Bruce has to prepare and in doing so, he will learn that the road back to Gotham is much longer that he had suspected. Book One of Year Zero.
1. What Lies Beneath

**Batman: the Long Road**

**Prologue: What Lies Beneath**

_Gotham City, NJ, October 10th, 2000,_

A crisp autumn day hung over the bustling city of Gotham and its hilly outskirts. Up in the hills, away from the hustle and bustle of the urban center, trees continued to grow, their orange and red leaves starting to fall, leaving skeletal branches clawing at the grey, overcast sky.

Sitting among the hills outside Gotham was an old, stately manor that sat upon acres of privately owned land. The manor stood four stories tall, made of stone and mortar, designed in a gothic architectural style. Large bay windows looked out onto different parts of the grounds and a gravel road led to the manor from the road at the edge of the property.

In one part of this expansive property, just within sight of the manor, five children ran through the freshly clipped grass, the sound of their laughter filling the air.

"Come on, Tony!" a boy with black hair and blue eyes called, "I just want to see it!"

"No chance, Bruce!" another boy with brown hair and light brown eyes replied with a laugh as he jogged to a stop and turned to face the other children, "Finders-keepers!"

"Yeah, but you found it on my property!" the first boy, Bruce, argued haughtily.

"Wow, I'm not sure you could sound more stuck up if you tried, Bruce," a third boy, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes, said with a snicker.

"Shut up, Tommy," Bruce replied as he turned to glare at the other boy.

"Can we see it, Tony?" the fourth child, a girl with short, red hair, pleaded as she batted her green eyes at him.

"Please?" the fifth child added with an identical expression, another girl who looked identical to the first except she wore her red hair longer.

"Okay," Tony relented with a sigh as he grinned at the girls, "But only because Kate and Beth asked so nicely."

"I wish you wouldn't make goo-goo eyes at my cousins, Tony," Bruce groaned, crossing his arms and looking away from Tony, "It's gross."

"Whatever, Bruce," Tony said as he held a clenched hand out towards Bruce while Kate and Beth stuck their tongues out at the boy, "Do you want to see it or not?"

Bruce turned back towards Tony and gathered around the boy's extended fist with the others. Slowly, Tony opened his hand with his palm facing upwards, revealing a black, stone arrowhead.

"Whoa," Tommy said in amazement, "An arrowhead!"

"Alfred said there used to be a tribe of Native Americans living around here," Kate, the one with short hair, said as she looked at the arrowhead in fascination.

"The Miagani, I think," Beth added.

"What do you think, Bruce?" Tony questioned.

"I think," Bruce said as a mischievous grin crossed his face, "Finders-keepers!"

Before Tony could react, Bruce reached out and grabbed the arrowhead then turned and took off running, laughing as he went. The other watched Bruce run for a second, too stunned to think.

"Hey!" Tony suddenly shouted angrily as he began running after Bruce, shaking his fist in the air, "Get back here!"

Bruce laughed louder as he ran, looking back at Tony, seeing Tommy and the twins trailing behind the other boy with smiles on their faces.

As Bruce continued to look backwards, he didn't notice where he was running until the sound of his feet pounding against dirt and grass turned into the sound of him moving across loose wood. Looking down in confusion, Bruce found that he was running over a sinkhole that had been covered with old, wooden boards. As Bruce looked down at the boards, there came a loud crack and he only had time for his eyes to widen in panic before the boards snapped under his weight in a shower of splinters, sending the boy hurtling into the darkness below as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The darkness rushed past Bruce with a woosh of air, his screams of fear echoing off the rock walls that surrounded him. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Bruce's fall ended as he landed on the hard-packed earth with a thud.

Bruce let out a cry as a spasm of pain shot up his arm. Rolling onto his back, Bruce gripped his arm with his other hand, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as he hissed in pain.

"Bruce!" he heard Tony's worried voice echo down to him, "Bruce, are you okay!"

Opening his eyes, Bruce could see the hole he had fallen through some twenty feet up, the forms of his four friends crowded around it backlit by the bright, grey sky.

"My arm's hurt!" Bruce called back, "I think I fell on it wrong."

"We should get Dad and Uncle Thomas!" Kate exclaimed, a panicked note in her voice, "They'll know what to do!"

"You guys go and get them," Tommy said, his voice calm compared to the others, "I'll stay here with Bruce."

There was a pause as three of the shadowed figures above Bruce left, the sound of their pounding feet quickly faded away.

"Bruce?" Tommy's voice echoed down to him, "Are you still there?"

"Y-Yeah," Bruce replied, a frightened tone to his voice, "Yeah, I'm here."

"What's it like down there?" Tommy questioned, calmly.

The question struck Bruce as peculiar, but with his curiosity peaked, he started to look around. In the dim light, Bruce could see that he was in a small cave. Glancing around, Bruce could make out a few tunnels, smaller than he could fit through, leading deeper into the darkness.

"I'm in a cave," Bruce said, looking down at one of the dark tunnels, "There are some small tunnels leading further down."

"Your dad said that there were a bunch of caves beneath your house," Tommy replied conversationally, "Hey, want to hear a story I once heard about these caves?"

"S-Sure," Bruce replied, happy to have something to take his mind off of what was happening.

"You remember those natives that Kate mentioned?" Tommy questioned, "The Miagani?"

"Yeah," Bruce answered, "W-What about them?"

"Well, when people first settled here, you know, from England and stuff, they didn't get along with the natives, like a lot of settlers back then," Tommy explained, "So, it wasn't long before the settlers went to war with the Maigani. Like a lot of those wars, the fight went south for the Maigani and eventually the settlers forced them into a cave. It seemed like the settlers had the Maigani beat, but when they followed them underground, they discovered that beneath Gotham was an entire system of caves. It was there they found the Maigani in the dark. With their god."

"Their god?" Bruce questioned, his heart jumping in his chest as he heard sounds from down one of the tunnels.

"You see, Maigani means Bat people in their language," Tommy explained, "They lived in caves and hunted in the dark and had a god to match. I guess the settlers would have called it a demon. The story said he was huge with a bat's head and bat-like wings for arms. The settlers called him Barbatos."

"He was real?" Bruce questioned as he looked up at the entrance to the hole, watching as Tommy's silhouette shrugged.

"Maybe," Tommy replied, "Or maybe he was just a big guy in a bat costume. There's really no way of knowing at this point."

"What happened next?" Bruce asked.

"There was a battle," Tommy said, "A lot of people died, apparently including Barbatos."

"Who killed him?" Bruce questioned.

"No one knows for sure," Tommy replied, "Some say it was this "Knight of the Owl" or something. The Cobblepots really like that version, since their family crest is an owl. Other people say it was Laughing Jack."

"Who's Laughing Jack?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"You've never heard of Laughing Jack?" Tommy questioned dubiously, "He's a folk hero around Gotham. He's one of those trickster heroes. They called him Laughing Jack because he was always telling jokes."

"What happened to the rest of them?" Bruce asked, "The Maigani, I mean."

"After Barbatos was killed, it was all over for them," Tommy explained, "The settlers killed a bunch of them while the rest fled deeper into the caves, deeper than any of the settlers were willing to go. So, they left and sealed the cave behind them."

"So, all the Maigani died?" Bruce questioned.

"Probably not," Tommy admitted, "People are still finding ways down there. The Gotham Underground, they call it. So, it's likely that the remaining Maigani got out. Still, no one ever saw them again."

"I wonder what happened to them," Bruce pondered aloud.

"Maybe they left," Tommy hypothesized, "Maybe they went and made a new tribe and named it something different. Maybe they joined another tribe. It's not like the settlers back then would have known the difference. Maybe the story exaggerates what happened and the settlers let the surviving Maigani stay and they just became part of the colony. Or maybe…."

"Maybe….?" Bruce repeated as Tommy trailed off.

"Maybe they're still down there," Tommy said thoughtfully, "Watching and waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Bruce questioned as his heart began beating harder in his chest.

"I don't know," Tommy calmly replied, "Waiting for someone to fall down the right hole, I guess."

Suddenly, the sound of movement came from one of the tunnels, causing Bruce to jump in surprise as he whipped his head around to look down the dark passageway.

"H-Hello?" Bruce called hesitantly as the movements stopped.

"Hello?" Tommy said from above, "Bruce, are you okay?"

"I think there's something down here with me!" Bruce shouted back with a frightened voice.

"Are you scared, Bruce?" Tommy questioned, his voice so low that Bruce could just barely hear him.

"...Yes," Bruce whispered into the darkness.

With a thousand shrieks from a thousand mouths, a swarm of bats came pouring out of the tunnel. Bruce held his arms up to protect his face, his screams of terror intermingling with the bats' high-pitched shrieks. Pain ran along Bruce's arms as he felt the bats buffet and scratch his arms as they flew around him in a disorienting cloud. Eventually, the bats found their way up, funneling out of the cave and into the open air, leaving Bruce alone once more, screaming despite the bats' departure.

Slowly, Bruce regained his wits as he stopped screaming and fought to catch his breath.

"Whoa, Bruce, are you still down there!?" Tommy called down the hole.

Bruce started to reply when a new noise caught his attention and the answer retreated back down his throat. It took Bruce a moment to recognize the sound. Something was beating against the air. Something leathery and large.

"Bruce!" Tommy continued calling from above the boy, "Did they eat you or something!? Bruce!"

Bruce ignored him, the color draining from his face as he saw something moving through the darkness towards him.

"Bruce, I can see your dad coming!" Tommy shouted, "Bruce, can you hear me!?"

Bruce couldn't hear Tommy though. His attention was focused entirely on the thing emerging from the tunnel. Bruce realized it was a giant bat, easily five times the size of the other bats, its wingspan barely allowing it to fly through the tunnel. The bat shrieked as it saw Bruce, looking at him with pure white eyes, bits of saliva flicking off its fangs and out of its open mouth. Bruce screamed as the bat descended on him, everything going black as the creature's wings blocked out the light and for one horrible moment, he could have sworn the bat shouted his name with his father's voice.

"Bruce!" his father called from far away, his voice sounding murky as if he was talking underwater, "Bruce!"

Suddenly, Bruce was awake, even though he couldn't remember being asleep. He was alone in the cave, the giant bat nowhere to be seen. Looking upwards, he saw his father, a man in his thirties with the same black hair and blue eyes as Bruce, being lowered down into the cave by a climbing rope attached to a harness he wore around his chest.

"Bruce, can you hear me!?" his father questioned, shining the flashlight he held down at Bruce.

"I can hear you, Dad," Bruce replied, holding his hand up to block out the bright light of the flashlight.

"Are you hurt?" his father questioned as he reached the ground.

"My arm hurts a little from the fall," Bruce explained, holding his arms up to his father, "And there were bats."

Shining his flashlight on Bruce's arms, the boy's father could see dozens of tiny, red scratches up and down his son's forearms.

"Come here, Bruce," his father said, ushering him over, "Let's get you out of here. We'll have to get you cleaned up so those cuts don't get infected."

Nodding his head, Bruce stood up and made his way over to his father on stiff legs. Bruce's father quickly put his flashlight in his belt and wrapped his arms around his son before shouting up towards the surface. A few moments later, the rope began to pull the two of them upwards.

"Are you okay, Bruce?" his father asked him as they rose up towards the surface.

"I was so scared," Bruce admitted as he gripped his father tightly, "The bats-"

"I think those bats were more afraid of you then you are of them," his father said with a small smile.

"You don't understand, Dad," Bruce aruged, "It wasn't just the little bats. There was one big bat too. Bigger than I've ever seen and I think….Dad. I think it knew me."

Bruce's father said nothing in reply though he did look at his son with concern.

By that time, they had reached the tip of the hole, allowing Bruce to look out of it. Standing to the side of the hole were three men who were hauling the rope up together.

One man seemed to be in the military, with short-cropped red hair and a muscular physique. The second man resembled Tony with dark brown hair, light brown eyes and a bushy mustache covering his upper lip. The third man was the oldest of the three, his black hair greying in places and possessing a pencil-thin mustache below his nose. A three men had their sleeves rolled up as they pulled Bruce and his father up to the surface.

As soon as he could, Bruce's father put his feet underneath him and stood up, his son still clenched in his arms.

"I saw it, Dad!" Bruce continued to plead, "It was there!"

Looking around, Bruce found his friends standing a short distance away with three women. A woman with hazel eyes and wavy brown hair stood with Tony whole the twins stood next to an athletic looking woman with her blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. Tommy stood next to an auburn haired, sickly looking woman who sat in a wheelchair.

"Tommy!" Bruce exclaimed, pointing at his friend, "You were there! You saw the giant bat, didn't you!?"

"I…." Tommy began to say, glancing at Bruce's father then back to the son in his arms, "I didn't see or hear anything. Just you screaming after the bats left. I think you may have passed out."

"I….I…." Bruce muttered in stunned confusion, trying to make sense of his muddled thoughts and memories.

Bruce's introspection was interrupted though as another person. a woman with auburn hair and green eyes ran up and embraced him, holding the boy's head against her breast, near where she wore a clay pin in the shape of a lopsided heart, attached to her shirt.

"Oh god Bruce, I was so worried," she said as she looked up at the boy's father, "Is he okay, Thomas?"

"He's a little shaken up, Martha," Thomas answered, "And he has some cuts I want to get bandaged up. Other then that, our son is fine."

"Thank god," Martha whispered as she kissed Bruce on the top of his head.

"Shall I prepare the car for the hospital, Master Thomas?" the older man questioned as he walked up next to Bruce's parents.

"That won't be necessary, Alfred," Thomas replied, shaking his head as he began walking towards the manor, Martha following and the other adults following behind with Bruce's friends, "Help Tommy push his mother back to the manor though."

"Of course, sir," Alfred replied with a stiff nod before walking over to Tommy's mother and pushing her wheelchair across the grass, tailing behind the others as they went.

"Is Bruce going to be okay, Uncle Thomas?" Kate asked with a worried tone.

"He's going to be just fine, sweetie," Thomas reassured her as they reached the manor, Martha opening the door to let him carry Bruce into the house.

Thomas carried Bruce through the house before he walked into a library, tall bookshelves stuffed with books lining most of the walls. Thomas lay Bruce on a lush, red couch, illuminated by the light from the setting sun streaming in through the bay window behind it.

"Anything we can do to help?" the military man questioned as the group followed Thomas into the library.

"Jake, can you get me my medical kit?" Thomas asked before turning to the man with the mustache, "Howard, can you get Bruce some water? I think he might be a little dehydrated."

"Sure thing," Howard replied as Jake nodded stiffly before they both left the room.

"Man, that was a heck of a fall, Bruce," Tony said with a smirk as he walked over to Bruce's side.

"And why do we fall, Bruce?" Thomas questioned rhetorically as he took his son's hands so he could look at his arms, "So we can pick ourselves up again."

Bruce smiled at his father's comment.

"How does he look?" Martha questioned as she nervously played with her finger.

"He should be fine," Thomas replied, "We just have to make sure these cuts don't get infected.

As Martha nodded in understanding, Jake returned with a medical kit and handed it to Thomas. Rummaging through the bag, Thomas pulled out some gauze bandages and a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide along with some cotton balls. Taking one of the cotton balls, Thomas soaked it in peroxide before taking Bruce's hand again.

"This is going to sting a little," Thomas warned before he started to dab the cotton ball on Bruce's cuts, causing the boy to hiss in pain as he felt a burning sensation from the cuts. After a few moments, Thomas was done and he began wrapping Bruce's cuts with the bandages.

"There," Thomas declared as Howard reentered the room with a glass of water, "All done."

"Here you go, Bruce," Howards said as he handed the boy the glass, "First round's on me."

"Thanks," Bruce replied with a chuckle as he took a sip of the water, quenching his parched throat.

"Perhaps we should call the evening off," Tommy's mother spoke up, a concerned look on her face, "I'm not sure Bruce is up for it now."

"I think you might be right, Elaine," Martha agreed, a look of worry on her face as well.

"N-No," Bruce argued as a pang of guilt went through his heart, "I'm alright."

"Are you sure, Bruce?" Thomas questioned, giving Bruce the same look as he had went his son had told him about the giant bat.

"I'm sure," Bruce insisted, "They're just a few scratches, like you said. I don't want to ruin everyone's night because I fell down a hole."

"Alright then," Thomas replied, a smile on his face, "I guess we should all get ready then, because it looks like we're going to the theater tonight."

A/N: Thanks to all those who voted in the poll, half of whom voted for having this fic be the first of what I'm calling my Earth-668 series. I, like many other people, love Batman and I'm looking forward to writing this story. I should note that this is what I'm calling a Year Zero story, which will be more about the character becoming the hero we know and less of them actually being that hero. Still I think you'll really like where I take this and I'm very excited to show it to you. I know a number of people were disappointed to start a new comic crossover series, but I feel this first chapter is already much better than my previous work and I hope you all agree. As always, feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later, True Believers!


	2. The Death of a Family

**Chapter 1: Death of a Family**

Bruce smiled as he looked out the window of the black limousine he rode in with his friends and family, all of them dressed in their best evening wear. Looking out the window, Bruce could see the approaching form of Gotham City, it's towering buildings of steel and concrete spread out across three large islands and a handful of smaller ones that all sat in Gotham Harbor, connected to the mainland by a series of bridges.

Tony slid over to Bruce's side as they crossed the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge to Gotham's northernmost island.

"Look," Tony said, pointing across the cityscape. Squinting his eyes, Bruce could just make out a tower of steel and glass standing amongst other such towers on the opposite side of the city. A white sign depicting a S overlaid on a W sat near the top of the tower, allowing all to see it.

"Wayne-Stark Tower," Tony said in wonderment as he looped one of his arms around Bruce's shoulders, "That'll be ours one day. I think we should talk about who gets top billing when that time comes."

"In your dreams, Tony," Bruce laughed as he gave his friend a playful shove.

Looking back out the window, Bruce watched as the limo entered the city, rolling under an elevated train rail as it went. As they passed under it, a monorail train whizzed by overhead, shooting off to another part of the city.

"Mr. Stark, did you design the trains?" Bruce questioned as he turned towards Howard, who had just finished making himself a drink from the limo mini-bar.

"The monorails?" Howard questioned as he took a sip of his drink while earning a nod from Bruce, "No, while they do use the repulsor technology my father invented and they run off the Arc reactor at Wayne-Stark Tower, the trains and rails themselves were designed and built by the Rand Corporation."

"You've met the Rands before, Bruce," Martha spoke up, "Their son Danny goes to Gotham Academy with you."

Bruce did know a Danny Rand, a quiet, blonde boy who mostly kept to himself.

"But why help?" Bruce questioned in confusion.

"Because we didn't build the trains for profit, Bruce," Thomas interjected, "We built them to help people."

Turning to Bruce, Thomas leaned down so that he could better look his son in the eye.

"Not everyone is as lucky as you, Bruce," Thomas explained, "Some people have it bad and other people are trying to make it worse for them. So Howard, Mr. Rand and I decided to try and make things easier for them. The monorail makes getting around the city much easier for people and we hope it make their lives better."

"Is that what you do at the company?" Bruce inquired, "Help people?"

"No," Thomas answered with a chuckle, "I help people at the hospital. I leave the running of the company to better people."

"Better?" Bruce questioned.

"Well….more interested people," Thomas replied with a smirk, earning a snort of laughter from Howard.

"Don't let Obadiah hear you say that," Howard chuckled as he took another sip of his drink.

It was at that point the limo slowed down in front of a theater with a number of people out in front of it. Spotlights shone into the sky while brightly illuminated sign displayed the name "The Monarch Theater." The limo came to a stop directly in front of the theater and a moment later Alfred, dressed in a tux and wearing a chauffeur's cap, stepped in front of the car door and opened it, allowing everyone to exit.

"I always love coming here," Martha sighed as she looked up at the sign while playing with the strand of pearls around her neck, "Do you remember when Mom used to bring you, Phil and I here, Jake?"

"I do," Jake nodded in reply, dressed in a military officer's uniform, "It hasn't changed a bit."

"Have you heard they might turn it into a movie theater?" Elaine questioned as Alfred helped her into an unfolding wheelchair he had setup by the car door, "Honestly, this whole neighborhood is going to hell. The Gotham Gazette has started calling it Crime Alley. They say it could be as bad as the Narrows if things keep going like they are."

"Well, I guess someone will have to do something about it then," Thomas mused.

As the adults talked, Bruce glanced around at the crowd gathered in front of the theater. As he did, he noticed a young girl moving through the crowd.

She was roughly Bruce's age with short, black hair and bright green eyes. She wore a ratty, black sweater that was much too big for her, black tights with runs in them and dirty, white sneakers.

As Bruce watched her, his eyes widened in surprise as he saw her deftly dip her hand into a woman's purse and pull out her wallet without the woman noticing. As Bruce continued watching the girl, he saw her begin walking towards his father and slip a hand into his jacket pocket.

"Hey!" Bruce exclaimed as he reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist as she pulled his father's wallet out of his jacket pocket.

"Ow!" the girl exclaimed as Bruce gripped her wrist hard, "Let go, jerk!"

The girl sent a quick kick at Bruce, hitting him in the shin, causing the boy to yelp in pain, continuing to hold on even as the girl shook her arm around in an effort to break free.

The girl stopped, however, as Thomas reached down and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to freeze in place as she looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"That little pickpocket!" Elinor exclaimed from behind Thomas, "She tried to steal your wallet, Thomas! We should call the police and have her arrested!"

"I don't think that will be necessary, Elinor," Thomas argued as he gave the girl a friendly smile, "Clearly I dropped my wallet and this young lady was returning it to me. Right?"

"I….I…." the girl struggled for a moment before swallowing loudly, "I was….I also found this one."

Thomas smiled as he took both his and the woman's wallet from the girl.

"Thank you," Thomas said before turning to his son, who still held the girl's wrist, "Bruce?"

"But Dad!" Bruce argued.

"It's alright, Bruce," Thomas assured him gently.

Bruce sighed in defeat as he let her go, the girl immediately pulling her arm back and rubbing her wrist as she gave Bruce a small glare.

"What's your name, dear?" Thomas questioned.

"S-Selina," the girl answered hesitantly as she looked up at Thomas again.

"Well, Selina, I believe a good deed deserves a reward, don't you?" Thomas asked as he opened up his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar bill before handing it to Selina, "Here you go."

Selina's wide green eyes darted between Thomas' face and the fifty in his hand.

"Seriously?" Selina questioned, looking at Thomas in disbelief.

"Seriously," Thomas answered as he lightly shook the fifty at Selina, urging her to take it.

Hesitantly, Selina reached out for the money, wary of a trap. Then, all at once she snatched the fifty from Thomas before spinning around and running away as fast as her legs could carry her, darting down a side alley and disappearing.

Thomas chuckled as he folded his wallet back up and stuck it back in his pocket before handing the stunned woman her wallet as well.

"Why did you do that, Dad?" Bruce questioned angrily, "She tried to steal your wallet. Why did you give her money for that?"

"Because she needed it more than me," Thomas answered simply as he turned back towards Bruce.

"But she's a criminal," Bruce argued in confusion, "Shouldn't she be punished?"

"People like her, they're forced to commit crime because they have no other way to survive," Thomas explained, "The people who should be punished are the people who put her in this situation. The criminals and crime lords who are trying to make this city worse."

"I guess I understand," Bruce said with a thoughtful nod.

"I knew you would," Thomas stated with a smil, "Now come on, we have a show to see."

_Later,_

Bruce sat hunkered down in his seat, the darkness of the theater hiding his expression of terror. Loud orchestral music blared as the actors on stage danced and pranced about, all of them dressed in black and a few wearing costumes that made them resemble bats.

Bruce began to whimper and shake as the performance went on, the sound of the blaring trumpets replaced with the shrieking of bats in his mind. Bruce tried to close his eyes to hid from the show, but behind his eyes the bat swarm waited, flying all around him in a living cloud of leather and teeth.

Whimpering again, Bruce instinctually reached out and grabbed his father's hand as it rested on the armrest next to him. Thomas looked down at his son, concern crossing his features as he saw the look of fear on the boy's face.

"Bruce, are you okay?" Thomas whispered.

"Can we leave, please?" Bruce pleaded with frightened eyes.

Thomas nodded before the two of them stood up and began making their way out of the aisle. Martha watched them go in confusion before standing up as well as Thomas and Bruce made their way out a back exit.

"I'm sorry," Bruce apologized, looking close to tears as they stepped out into a back alley. The alley ran towards the street with a few smaller alleys branching off near the middle.

"It's alright, Bruce," Thomas reassured him, "Was it the bats?"

"I feel so stupid," Bruce growled, "I said I was okay but…."

"It's okay," Thomas said, smiling at his son as he lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Everyone gets scared."

"Even the scary animals?" Bruce questioned.

"Especially the scary animals," Thomas answered with a chuckle.

"Is everything okay?" Martha questioned as she walked out into the alley, a look of concern on her face as she put on her coat.

"I just needed some fresh air," Thomas lied, smiling at his wife.

Martha gave Thomas a look, clearly not believing him but smiling all the same.

"Alright," Martha played along, nodding her head as she walked over to Bruce and Thomas, "It was a boring show anyway."

"Come on," Thomas said, taking Bruce and Martha's hands as he began leading them through the alley, "Let's go find Aldred, I bet we can grab some ice cream before the show is over."

Smiling, Bruce followed along as they made their way out of the alley. However, halfway through someone stepped out of the shadows and into their path.

He was roughly Thomas' age and looked like he had seen better days, his greasy hair clinging to his scalp and a patchy beard growing from his face. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his dirty jacket and he walked with his brown eyes focused on the ground in front of him.

It looked for a moment like the man was going to pass them by when he suddenly stopped in front of them and whipped his hand out of his pocket, producing a revolver that he leveled at Thomas.

"H-Hold it,"the man mumbled as he looked at Thomas with wide eyes while Martha gasped in shock and Bruce froze in fear.

"Whoa," Thomas said in surprise as he held up his hands, "Easy now."

"Give….Give me your money," the man demanded nervously as the gun began to shake in his hands.

"Sure, no problem," Thomas replied gently as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet before handing it to the man, "Take the whole thing."

Hesitantly the man reached out and grabbed the wallet from Thomas, keeping his gun trained on the other man the whole time as he stuffed the wallet into his pocket. Glancing over at Martha, the man turned the gun towards her, causing her to jump and shriek in fear.

"The pearls too," the man stated.

"No," Thomas replied nervously as he took a half step towards the man, "We can't do that."

"Get back!" the man shouted as he pointed the gun at Thomas again, causing Bruce's father to freeze in place before the mugger swung the revolver back towards Martha, "The pearls! Now!"

"Please!" Martha pleaded, tears running down her cheeks, "They belonged to my mother!"

"Now!" the man demanded, the gun shaking violently in his hand as he took a step towards Martha.

"Wait," Thomas began to say as he took a step towards the man, causing the mugger to whip back around to face him.

The gun went off with a bang like a firecracker, causing Bruce to jump in surprise.

The man and Thomas stared at each other with matching expressions of shock as smoke slowly rose from the revolver's barrel. Looking down, Thomas saw a hole in his white shirt, blood blossoming out from the wound in his chest. Abruptly, his strength left him and he collapsed to the ground.

"Thomas!" Martha shrieked, tears streaming down her face as she turned towards teh mugger, "What did you do!? What did you do!?"

She took a step towards the man, causing him to jump in surprise and spin towards Martha on instinct, the gun in his hand spitting fire with a roar.

The bullet caught Martha directly in the heart, causing her to let out a tiny gasp as it pierced her chest. She died before her body had finished falling to the ground.

The man looked down at Martha's dead body with an expression of pure horror. Slowly, he turned to look at Bruce as the boy stared down at his parents in complete shock.

"Oh God…." the man whispered, dropping the gun like it had bit him, the revolver clattering to the ground with smoke still rising from the barrel, "What have I….Oh God…."

Slowly, Bruce lifted his head up, his blue eyes meeting the man's brown ones.

"I.,,,I…." the man tried to say, looking like he was desperately fighting the urge to cry.

Whatever the man had wanted to say died in his throat and he said nothing more, fleeing down the alley towards the street.

"Bruce…." Thomas said weakly, bringing his sons attention down to him, "Bruce…."

Bruce kneeled down next to his father, taking Thomas' hand as he weakly reached out towards his son.

"Don't be afraid, Bruce…." Thomas coughed his voice barely above a whisper, "Don't be…."

Before Thomas could finish, he suddenly went still and the light seemed to leave his eyes. It took Bruce a few moments to realize that his father was dead.

As Bruce stared down at his parents' corpses, his father's hand growing cold in his own, the horror of what he had witnessed finally struck him. His parents had been murdered, cut down before his very eyes.

Bruce was now an orphan. Alone in the world.

The thought built in Bruce's heart and mind until he felt he was going to burst. And burst he did, letting out a painful and terrified scream that echoed off the walls that surrounded him, tears streaming down his cheeks.

At the same time, a young girl watched from the shadows, covering her mouth in horror as tears ran from her emerald eyes.

_Later_,

Blue and red lights flashed from the police car parked at the end of the alley, illuminating the the shadows in spurts and starts. Police tape had been set up along the end of the alley and patrolmen dressed in navy blue uniforms stood guard, making sure the crowd of gawkers that had gathered did not disturb the crime scene.

Bruce sat on the stares that led to the backdoor of the theater from which he and his parents had emerged a lifetime ago. Bruce stared down at his parents' bodies, covered with white sheets until the crime scene investigators and the detectives had fully documented the crime scene and they could be carried aways to the coroner's office.

As Bruce sat shivering in the cold, autumn air a patrolman paused as he walked by. He appeared to be in his late twenties with red hair and glasses that covered his brown eyes. Some unshaven hair grew from his upper lip. He looked at Bruce in confusion before glancing around.

"Hey," the patrolman said as he caught the attention of a passing detective, "Is anyone watching the kid?"

"Who cares?" the detective replied with a snort of contempt, "It's not like he's going anywhere."

The patrolman gave the detective a glare as the other man walked away. Turning back to Bruce, the patrolman's face softened and he made his way over to the boy.

"Hey," the patrolman greeted with a nervous, friendly smile, "You're Bruce, right?"

Bruce gave the smallest of nods, still staring at where his parent lay.

"Well, my name is James Gordon," the patrolman went on, glancing at the bodies before looking back at Bruce, "But my friends call me Jim."

If Bruce heard Jim, he made no indication of it.

"Do….Do you have anyone who might come and get you?" Jim asked.

Bruce slowly turned his gaze away from the corpses of his parents and looked towards the crowd gathered at the end of the alley. Following his gaze, Jim saw Alfred, Howard and Jake all arguing vehemently with the patrolmen stationed at the police tape. Jim couldn't hear what was being said, but he could tell the patrolmen were refusing to let the men into the crime scene, despite their protests.

"I see," Jim commented as he turned back to Bruce, "I'm sorry, these things are complicated and there's a lot of red tape to-"

Jim interrupted himself as he saw that Bruce had turned his attention back to his parent's bodies.

"What am I talking about?" Jim groaned as he removed his glasses so that he could rub his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, "You don't care about red tape."

Putting his glasses back on, Jim caught sight of Bruce shivering against the cold, night air.

"You cold?" Jim questioned as he tooked off the navy blue patrolman's jacket he was wearing, "Here."

Leaning down, Jim placed his jacket round Bruce's shoulders. The boy blinked in surprise as he felt the jacket's comforting warmth surround him, turning to look at Jim for the first time as the patrolman sat down next to him.

"Thank you," Bruce whispered.

"No problem," Jim replied with a small smile.

Slowly, Bruce turned to look at his parent's again, a look of sorrow crossing his features as he did.

"It's not fair," Bruce muttered, tears welling up in his eyes.

"No, it's not," Jim agreed with a sigh and sad shake of his head, "Your parents did a lot of good for this city."

"And it did nothing," Bruce spat, "Everyone is saying the city is only getting worse and this proves it."

"You can't think like that," Jim half pleaded, half insisted, "Your parents did a lot of good. They helped a lot of people. You can't let what's happened to them and to this city make you forget that."

Jim reached out and lay a hand on Bruce's shoulder, prompting the boy to look up at him with watery blue eyes.

"There will always be bad people, bad things in the world," Jim explained, "That's why you can't lose sight of the good. If we do, then the bad guys win."

"Are you a good guy, Jim?" Bruce questioned hesitantly.

"I'd like to think so," Jim replied with a grin.

"Will you catch the man who did this?" Bruce asked.

"We…." Jim began to respond but paused as he saw the pleading look Bruce was giving him and a feeling of doubt swept over him. He was just a patrolman after all. What hope did he have of catching a murderer?

But as Jim looked into Bruce's tear-filled eyes, he felt all his doubts wash away. Jim gave Bruce's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as his brow furrowed in determination.

"I'll find the man who did this," Jim said seriously, looking directly into Bruce's eeys as he spoke, "I'll find him and bring him to justice."

In response, Bruce began to cry once more and threw himself at Jim, wrapping his arms around the offices torso and weeping into his chest. The move caught Jim off guard for a moment before a look of sadness crossed his face and he wrapped an arm around Bruce's shaking shoulders.

Unbeknownst to either if then, a young girl sat on the fire escape of a nearby building, her legs hanging over the side as she watched Jim Gordon with green eyes, a plan forming in her mind.

A/N: Thanks for all the great feedback on the last chapter guys! Really encouraged me to get this chapter out quick. Also, quick question for you guys. I never really thought that hard about social media and that sort of stuff, but would you guys like it if I set some up? Maybe let you guys know how progress is going or stuff like that? Let me know what you think! As always, feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later!


	3. The Witness

**Chapter 2: The Witness**

_ October 13th, 2000,_

Grey clouds heavy with rain hung over the Wayne estate, casting the manor in a somber light that matched the feeling of the day.

Numerous black cars were gathered in the large, gravel driveway of the manor. A group of mourners, each dressed in black, gathered in the private cemetery located on the grounds, holding the remains of generations of the Wayne family.

The mourners had gathered around two freshly dug graves, a pair of wooden caskets being lowered in, side by side as a priest droned out a prayer. Freshly carved, marble tombstones sat above the graves, declaring the occupants to be Martha and Thomas Wayne, loving mother and father, cut down too soon.

Bruce stood before the graves, watching solemnly as his parents were lowered into the ground. Alfred stood behind him and, as raindrops began to splatter against the ground around them, opened the umbrella he carried, using it to shield Bruce and himself from the weather. Bruce stood flanked, with his cousins on one side and Tony on the other, their parents standing behind their respective children. Tommy stood a short distance away, holding an umbrella above his mother.

Glancing around at the gathered people, Bruce also saw those who were unfamiliar to him.

An athletic, blonde haired and blue eyed man that had introduced himself as Wendell Rand, though Bruce saw no sign of his son, Danny.

Another man, with a bald head and a black beard had introduced himself as Obadiah Stane, one of his father's business partners. He promised to run the company like Bruce's father intended, but the boy found himself only half listening.

There were two other men, one was a slightly pudgy, slightly weasley man who said he was the mayor, the other was a hard looking man with hard grey eyes who said he was the police commissioner. Both promised to bring his parents' killer to justice, though again, Bruce found himself only half listening.

The final people that Bruce truly took notice of were an older woman and a young man, both with jet black hair, dark brown eyes and sharp, beak-like noses. Cobblepots, Bruce had heard Howard refer to them as, the way he said it made it seem like the word had a sour taste to it.

As the priest finished his prayer, the rain began to come down in earnest, prompting the mourners to retreat into the manor, leaving only the gravediggers, who set to their task of refilling the graves.

As the funeral gave way to the reception the mourners partook of the food and drink that had been left out for them in the parlour. As the mourners began to chat with one another, Bruce took the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed and unmissed.

A short time later, Bruce stood on one of the upper levels, looking through one of the windows out at the grounds. Bruce had not turned the lights on as he came in, the room only illuminated by the dim grey light coming in from the overcast sky outside. Bruce stared out the rain-spattered window, watching as the grave diggers finished burying his parents, the freshly dug earth standing out next to the cleanly cut grass that covered the rest of the cemetery.

As Bruce looked out the window, he heard a noise behind him, prompting him to turn around. Tony, Tommy, Beth and Kate stood in the doorway, watching him. His cousins wore a matching pair of sad expressions while Tony looked at Bruce in concern. Tommy's face, however, was unreadable.

"Hey," Tony greeted quietly.

"...Hey," Bruce replied after a moment.

"We were wondering where you ran off too," Kate commented.

"Well, now you know," Bruce stated coldly as he looked back out the window.

"What….what are you looking at?" Beth questioned hesitantly.

"My parents," Bruce answered as his shoulders began to shake.

"Bruce…." Kate began to say as she took a step towards him.

"Don't you guys get it!?" Bruce snapped as he turned to glare at his friends, causing Kate to step back in surprise, "My parents are gone! I have no one! I'm….I'm alone."

Bruce's shoulders shook again as he fought the urge to cry, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"That's not true, Bruce," Kate said quietly.

"W-What?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"You're not alone, Bruce," Beth concurred, "You have us. We're your family."

"And you've got your friends too," Tony added with a small smile, "Isn't that right, Tommy?"

Tommy said nothing.

"Tommy?" Tony questioned in confusion as he looked over at the other boy as he stepped forward with an impassive face.

"It's your fault, you know," Tommy said after a moment, causing Tony and the twins to whip their heads around to look at the other boy with wide eyes.

"What?" Bruce questioned in quiet shock.

"I saw you that night at the play," Tommy explained, his expression never changing, "I saw you leave with your parents."

"What of it?" Tony questioned, his shock giving way to anger.

"Why did you leave, Bruce?" Tommy questioned, his attention focused only on the boy before him.

Bruce looked down and refused to look Tommy in the eye.

"Was it the bats, Bruce?" Tommy pressed as Bruce's lower lip began to tremble.

"Knock it off, Tommy!" Tony demanded.

"You're upsetting him!" Beth added.

"Were you scared, Bruce?" Tommy questioned, ignoring the others.

"You had better shut your mouth before I-" Tony began to say.

"Yes!" Bruce wailed, tears running down his cheeks, "I was scared! I was so scared!"

"Then your parents died because of your cowardice," Tommy spat as if the words meant nothing to him.

With a roar of anger, Tony stepped forward to make good on his half-said promise. Kate however literally beat him to the punch.

Growling with rage, Kate stepped in front of Tommy before driving her clenched fist hard into the boy's guts. The blow forced the air out of Tommy's lungs and caused him to double over as he clenched his stomach in pain. Tommy's knees shook and it looked for a moment like he would fall over.

"You jerk!" Kate shouted, glaring at Tommy as the others looked at her in shock, "How dare you say something like that!?"

"I….I…." Tommy coughed, struggling to regain his composure and breath.

"I don't want to hear it!" Kate bellowed as she pointed to the door, "Get out before I break your stupid nose!"

Tommy looked like he was about to argue but thought better of it and stumbled his way to the door, pausing as he leaned against the doorway.

"Your father and mother were wonderful people," Tommy said, looking directly at Bruce as he spoke, "You didn't deserve them."

"Get lost!" Kate shouted as she took a threatening step towards Tommy, prompting the boy to disappear into the hallway.

"Wow," Tony said with wide eyed amazement, "And I thought I could get on your bad side."

"I can't believe he said that," Beth commented, stunned, "It was so mean."

"Sounded like he was jealous," Kate commented, crossing her arms as she continued to glare at the spot Tommy had occupied moments before.

"Well, it's like my dad says," Tony commented, "You never really know someone. Right, Bruce?"

Bruce said nothing, prompting Tony to look over at his friend.

"You know I really don't like people ominously not replying to my questions," Tony commented.

"He's right," Bruce whimpered as tears continued to fall from his eyes, "My parents are dead because of me."

"How do you figure that, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as he appeared in the darkened doorway, surprising Bruce's friends.

"If I hadn't gotten scared," Bruce explained through his tears, "If we had stayed in the theater…."

"Did you pull the trigger, Master Bruce?" Alfred questioned pointedly.

"Huh?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"Did you pull the trigger?" Alfred repeated.

"N-No," Bruce replied, wiping his eyes.

"Did you force that mugger to shoot your parents?" Alfred pushed, "Did you pay him to do it?"

"No!" Bruce snapped, insulted by the question, "I never did any of that!"

"Then your parent's deaths are not your fault," Alfred surmised.

"But-" Bruce started to argue.

"No buts, Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted, "Your choices may have led your parents into the alley but it was that man who shot them. That was his choice and his choice alone."

"What do we do now?" Bruce questioned, a lost expression on his face.

"We move forward," Alfred answered, glancing around at the room, "The Manor is a bit too large for the two of us, don't you think?"

"I-I guess," Bruce answered.

"Then it is only prudent that we go some place more comfortable," Alfred stated, "The Kane household, perhaps?"

"Uncle Jake's house?" Bruce questioned in confusion.

"He is your legal guardian now," Alfred explained, "I've taken the liberty of packing a few of your things for when your uncle is ready to depart."

"See, Bruce," Beth said with a smile, "You won't be alone."

"Plenty of room for all of us," Kate added with a matching smile.

"And I'll be with you every step of the way, pal," Tony spoke up.

"What about you, Alfred?" Bruce questioned, looking up at the butler.

"Your uncle has elected to hire me on to help run the Kane household," Alfred explained with a smirk, "I will also be busy with the caretaking of the Manor. I want it ready for when you decide to return here."

"I'm never coming back here, Alfred," Bruce stated as he began walking out of the room.

"But Master Bruce, this is your home," Alfred said, watching the boy walk by with a look of confusion.

"No Alfred, this is just a house," Bruce stated as he walked into the darkened hallway, "You need a family to have a home."

_Later_,

Rain continued to drench the city as night fell and the cold, October air chilled the streets. A police cruiser rolled down one such street, the lights from the street lamps reflecting off the water logged asphalt. The cruiser rolled to a stop outside a small deli and Officer Jim Gordon put the car in park.

"You want to come in?" asked the patrolman in the passenger's seat, a overweight man with greasy hair and a greasy grin, "Finally take a cut of your own?"

"No thanks," Jim replied, a dour expression on his face.

"You know, I keep offering you a taste, hoping that one day you'll get wise," the man chuckled.

"There's nothing wise about what you do, Flass," Jim grumbled.

"Well, you should know that it's guys like you that make the rest of us nervous," Flass explained as he eyed Jim.

"I'm no rat!" Jim snapped before sighing in frustration, "Besides, in a town this crooked, who is there to rat to?"

"Now that's wise," Flass commented with a laugh.

"Still, this isn't wise and not for the reason you think," Jim stated.

"What do you mean?" Flass asked.

"You must hear the rumblings too," Jim replied, "The Lion doesn't have a hold on the city like he used to. The old families are starting to question him. Especially with that new player people are talking about. The guy operating out of the Narrows and Crime Alley."

"It's just talk," Flass argued weakly.

"We'll see," Jim replied ominously, "I'd just be careful about whose side I stay on, if I were you."

"Whatever," Flass grunted as he got out of the cruiser, "I'm going to make some money. You can stay here and keep the car running."

With that he slammed the door closed and stalked into the deli, a little bell over the door ringing as he entered.

Jim sighed again and settled into his seat, letting his thoughts drift as he listened to the rain plunking against the cruiser and the occasional chatter over his radio.

Then someone knocked at the window.

Jim jumped in surprise and looked out the driver's side window. A young girl stood outside in the pouring rain, looking at Jim with emerald eyes. She looked soaked to the bone, her ratty sweater hanging heavy on her tiny frame and her black hair plastered to her head. She reminded Jim of a drowned cat.

"Can I help you, Miss?" Jim asked as he rolled down the window.

"You're Jim Gordon, right?" the girl questioned in return.

"I am," Jim replied as he gave the girl a confused look, "Do I know you?"

"No," the girl replied with a shake of her head.

"What's your name, Miss?" Jim questioned, put on edge by the girl's odd behavior.

"Selina….Kyle," the girl replied, sounding strangely uncertain about her own name.

"What can I help you with, Ms. Kyle?" Jim asked, eyeing Selina suspiciously.

"I know who killed Thomas and Martha Wayne," Selina said simply.

Jim stared at her in stunned silence for a moment.

"...Excuse me?" he questioned after a moment.

"I know who killed the Waynes," Selina repeated, "And I know where to find him."

In response, Jim began to reach for his radio, but was stopped as Selina suddenly leapt up onto the door and reached into the cruiser, putting her hand over the walkie-talkie before Jim could use it.

"What are you doing!?" Jim questioned in surprise as he instinctively reached for his gun.

"No other cops," Selina explained calmly as she dangled from the car window, "Just you."

"Why me?" Jim asked in confusion.

"Because you have a promise to keep," Selina replied knowingly.

"How….you heard that?" Jim asked in shock.

"Yeah, I was there for that too," Selina answered with a smirk, "So, what do you say, lawman? Want to go catch a bad guy?"

"There was a pause as Jim thought over Selina's offer.

"Get in the car," Jim said, his tone serious.

In one smooth move, Selina pulled herself the rest of the way into the car and rolled across Jim's lap before stopping in the passenger's seat. Jim blinked at the girl in surprise causing Selina to grin at him.

"Buckle up," Jim said, prompting Selina to roll her eyes as she did as she was told while Jim pulled the car away from the curb. As Jim drove away, Flass walked back out of the deli, watching in confusion as the cruiser drove away into the night.

"Hey!" Flass shouted after the cruiser, "Hey!"

"So, where are we going?" Jim questioned.

"The Narrows," Selina answered.

"The Narrows!?" Jim questioned in shick, "You want me to go to the Narrows? Cops only go there in force!"

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe," Selina replied.

Jim arched a questioning eyebrow at Selina, earning another grin from the girl.

"So why are you doing this?" Jim asked.

"Doing what?" Selina questioned evasively.

"You know what," Jim replied sternly, feeling in no mood for games.

"What do you care?" Selina responded defensively.

"Because I'm about to drive into the Barrows without backup on the word of a complete stranger," Jim replied in frustration, "I think I deserve to know why you're doing this."

Selina sighed in defeat.

"Because he was nice to me," Selina mumbled.

"Huh?" Jim asked in confusion, "Who was nice to you?"

"Thomas Wayne," Selina elaborated, "I tried to pick his pocket that night but his kid caught me. Instead of having me arrested, he gave me fifty bucks and sent me on my way."

Selina fell silent as Jim processed what she had told him, the cruiser rolling across the bridge to the small island that housed the Narrows. Glancing up, Jim could see the large gothic manor looming over the other buildings from its position on top of the hill at the center of the island.

"He was a good guy," Selina went on, "So was his wife. They didn't deserve what they got. Their kid didn't either."

"He was in a bad way when I talked to him," Jim agreed with a sad sigh.

"You didn't see him like I did," Selina stated, "I was there when it happened. I watched something break in him, right in front of my eyes."

Jim glanced over at Selina and found the girl looking right at him.

"You ever see someone die?" Selina questioned, the look on her face revealing the little girl she really was.

Jim nodded his head slowly.

"Does….does it get any easier?" Selina asked quietly.

She looked at Jim with pleading eyes and he desperately wanted to tell her that it did. That all of this would fade. That time heals all wounds.

But he couldn't lie to her.

"No," Jim finally said, "You just learn to carry it better."

Selina turned away from him, falling quiet after directing Jim down a sidestreet.

"He didn't mean to, you know," Selina said after a few quiet moments.

"What do you mean?" Jim questioned.

"I mean, the mugger didn't mean to kill the Waynes," Selina explained, "He just wanted their money. I don't think he'd ever mugged someone before. Hell, I don't think he'd ever held a gun before."

"What happened then?" Jim pressed." Selina elaborated, "They spooked him and he shot them out of reflex."

"That doesn't make him not guilty," Jim stated solemnly.

"No, it doesn't," Selina agreed as she looked out the window, "Pull over, we're here."

Jim pulled the cruiser over to the side of the road, the car rolling to a stop in front of a rundown apartment building. At first glance, Jim couldn't decide if the building was condemned or not.

"How do you know he's here?" Jim questioned as he turned off the car.

"I tracked him down and followed him here," Selina explained, "People are easy to find in the Narrows if you know where to look."

"It takes a thief," Jim mused.

Selina looked less than amused as she opened the door.

"Come on," Selina said as she stepped out of the car and into the rain.

Getting out of the car, Jim followed Selina up to the front door, which was unlocked, allowing them inside. The cramped hallways were lit with naked bulbs in ceiling sockets. The plaster on the walls was spider-webbed with cracks and a smell that was an odd mixture of alcohol and mildew hung in the musty air.

"Up here!" Selina said quietly as she went up a set of rickety wooden stairs. Jim followed drawing his pistol as he went.

The two climbed to the third floor, which Selina led him down, slinking silently on the balls of her feet. Jim could hear a couple loudly arguing as they passed by one of the apartments.

"He's in this one," Selina explained as they came to a stop in front of an apartment door, "His name's Joseph Chilton."

Jim nodded before he began reaching forward to knock on the door.

"What are you doing!?" Selina hissed as she reached up and grabbed Jim's arm.

"I can't just go in there and arrest someone, you know," Jim argued quietly, "I need a warrant for that."

"Oh, for the love of…." Selina grumbled before an idea struck her, "Wait, but that doesn't apply when there's a good chance there is a crime being committed, right?"

"Yes," Jim replied, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out what Selina was planning.

"Like say, I don't know, breaking and entering?" Selina suggested.

"What are you getting-" Jim started to ask but was interrupted when Selina stepped forward and threw a kick higher than the patrolman expected her to be able to, the girl slamming her foot against the brass door knob. The rotten wood of the door cracked loudly and the door knob broke off, causing the rest of the door to swing open.

Jim looked at the door in flabbergasted shock before looking back to Selina.

"Go!" Selina shouted at him, "You can arrest me later!"

Growling through gritted teeth, Jim turned away from Selina and entered the apartment with his gun at the ready.

The apartment was as small and as dirty as Jim had expected but what he hadn't expected was that the man not alone.

The man, Joseph Chilton, sat at a small, wooden table with simple dinner laid across it, accompanied by three other people. One was a woman roughly the same age as Joseph. Between them sat what Jim realized were their children, a girl not even three years old and an infant in a high chair. The woman and girl screamed in fear as Jim entered the room and the infant began to wail.

For one horrible moment, Jim thought he had made a mistake, that Selina had brought him to the wrong place, if she even knew where the killer was at all.

But then Jim locked eyes with the man. He looked at Jim in surprise but that was it. No anger. No fear. Just understanding behind a look of surprise, as if Jim was expected but had shown up early.

The man, Jim realized, knew exactly why he was there.

"Show me your hands!" Jim demanded as he leveled his gun at Joseph Chilton, "Let me see your hands!"

Slowly, Joseph raised his hands from the table as his wife ran over to the screaming infant and pulled it into her arms.

"Who are you!?" the woman shrieked as she clutched her baby against her, "What are you doing here!?"

"Mommy, what's happening!?" the little girl screamed as she rushed away from Jim to her mother's side.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" Jim questioned.

Joseph slowly nodded his head in reply.

"You're here to arrest me," Joseph answered.

"W-What?" the woman questioned in shock, "What are you talking about, Joe?"

"I'm the one who killed the Waynes," Joe explained sadly before looking back to Jim, "I confess. I shot them. You have my gun, I'm sure. It's going to have my fingerprints all over it."

"You're gun?" the woman questioned in shock before something clicked in her mind and despair fell over her, "Oh god Joe, what did you do!? What did you do!?"

"Without my job, how was I….we needed….oh god," Joe whimpered, tears falling from his eyes, "I shot them in front of their son…."

"I'm going to need you to come with me," Jim said, relaxing slightly as he looked at the wreck of a man before him.

"I didn't mean to shoot them," Joe said, giving Jim a pleading look, "I never wanted to hurt anyone."

"You and I both know that doesn't matter now," Jim said, sympathy showing on his features.

"Can….Can I say goodbye?" Joe questioned quietly.

"...O-Okay," Jim said after a moment's hesitation, lowering his gun.

Standing from his chair Joe kneeled in front of the girl as she clung to her mother's leg.

"Daddy, what's happening?" the girl whimpered.

"Daddy has to go away now, Harper," Joe explained, trying to keep a brave face.

"No!" the girl, Harper, wailed as she grabbed onto Joe, the man holding her close, "Don't go, Daddy! Don't go!"

"I have to," Joe said, crying as he kissed Harper on the top of her head, "You're going to have to take care of Mommy and Cullen now, okay?"

"Okay," Harper replied, still crying.

Standing up, Joe hugged his wife close, kissing her and the infant in her arms.

"I love you," Joe whispered to his wife, "I'm so sorry."

Slowly Joe turned away from his family, his wife covering her mouth as she cried.

"I need you to put your hands behind your back," Jim said solemnly as he drew a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Nodding Joe turned around and crossed his wrists behind his back.

"How did you find me?" Joe questioned as Jim strapped one of the cuffs onto his wrist, "I knew you'd find me eventually, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

"I had…." Jim began to say as he looked back towards the front door, only to find Selina had disappeared, "There was a witness."

Joe nodded in reply as Jim secured the cuffs and began walking Joe out of the apartment.

"Joseph Chilton," Jim intoned as he led Joe down the hall, the man's neighbors peeking out of their apartments at them as they passed, "You are under arrest for the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne."

A/N: I have to say, I'm really happy with the way this chapter came out. I've been dying to write it since I started this story. Hope you guys enjoyed it! As always feedback and critiques are always welcome so please review! Later, True Believers!


	4. The Vow

**Chapter 3: The Vow**

_November 10th, 2008,_

A light dusting of snow fell across the grounds of Wayne Manor, slowly turning the lawn from green to white. Standing by one of the frosted windows on one of the Manor's upper levels was a handsome young man no older than eighteen. Looking out the window, he stared down at the small cemetery, the snow starting to cover the graves. Reaching into the pocket of the expensive jacket he wore, the young man touched something cold and heavy resting inside, his eyes never leaving the cemetery.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred said from behind the young man as he stood in the doorway.

Bruce jumped in surprise as the sudden sound, almost pulling the object out of his pocket by accident.

"I apologize for startling you, Master Bruce," Alfred apologized with a chuckle, "But Mister Stark and Miss Kane have arrived."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce replied as he turned away from the windows, sparing one last glance towards the cemetery before leaving the room, Alfred following behind.

"Can I persuade you to stay on for a few days, sir?" Alfred questioned as they made their way down the hall, "Or will you be returning to Princeton after the hearing?"

"I won't be returning to Princeton, Alfred," Bruce replied evenly.

"Princeton didn't agree with you, sir?" Alfred asked.

"More that I didn't agree with Princeton," Bruce replied.

"Very well," Alfred stated with a nod as they began to descend the long staircase to the first floor, "I'll have the master bedroom prepared for you."

"I won't be staying here either, Alfred," Bruce countered.

"With all do respect, Master Bruce, but Wayne Manor is your home," Alfred stated, an edge to his voice.

"It was my father's home," Bruce argued, growing more irritated by the moment, "Now it's nothing more than a mausoleum. If I had my way, I'd have it torn down to the foundations."

"This home has housed seven generations of your family," Alfred retorted.

"It's not your family!" Bruce snapped, stopping midway down the stairs and turning to glare at Alfred, "Why do you give a damn!?"

"I give a damn because your father made me vow to look after the most important thing in his life," Alfred replied, his cold stony countenance opposing Bruce's fiery anger, "And I keep my vows."

Bruce visibly relaxed as the words struck home, his anger slowly leaving him. Sighing, he gave Alfred a small smile.

"You still haven't given up on me," Bruce observed.

"Never," Alfred replied, smiling back.

"Hey!" a voice called from the bottom of the stairs, "What's the holdup!?"

Chuckling, Bruce hurried down the rest of the stairs where he found two people waiting for him, both around the same age as him. One was a young man dressed in a dark blue suit with styled brown hair. The other was a young woman in a simple black dress, her red hair cut close to her head.

"There he is!" the man exclaimed happily, "Took your sweet time, college boy."

"Still impatient as always, Tony," Bruce commented with a chuckle.

"Hey, why wait when you can have the things you want now?" Tony questioned with a smile, "That's why I went to MIT when we were fifteen."

"How's running the company going?" Bruce questioned.

"Pretty great," Tony replied, "Keeps me busy. Thinking of getting myself if a personal assistant to keep track of all the stuff I have to do."

"I'd love to meet the person who can stand being around you all day," the woman commented with a snort.

"Always with the insults, Kate," Tony replied, glancing at her before looking back to Bruce, "I bet if we asked her, she'd tell us I'm the reason she isn't into guys."

"You certainly aren't a selling point," Kate added with a roll of her eyes before smiling at Bruce and giving him a hug, "How has college been, Bruce?"

"Alright," Bruce replied with a shrug as they pulled apart, "How's West Point?"

"Alright," Kate answered with an identical shrug, "Bit stuffy for my taste."

The three of them chuckled before Kate's smile fell and she rubbed her arm uncomfortably.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Bruce?" Kate questioned.

"This man killed my parents, Kate," Bruce replied, his expression turning grim, "Someone should be there to make sure they get justice."

"They were part of my family too," Kate stated, her gaze turning hard.

"And wouldn't you want to be there if this was the men who killed your mother and sister?" Bruce shot back, taking a step towards Kate.

"You know they never caught those men," Kate growled, her hands clenching into fists.

"Yet," Bruce replied neutrally.

"Alright, alright," Tony said, stepping between the cousins, "That's enough guys. Same team, remember?"

Kate grunted in reply, folding her arms as she looked away from Bruce as the young man took a step back.

"Now, I don't know if it's a good idea for us to go to this thing," Tony said, "But if we want to get there in time we have to leave now."

Bruce let out his breath through his nose before nodding.

"Let's go," Bruce stated, "I need to be there."

_Later,_

The Solomon Wayne Courthouse stood on the southern island of the chain that housed Gotham City, not far away from City Hall. The building was made of grey, weather-beaten concrete done in a classical Greek design. A long, wide set of stairs led through a row of columns that supported the courthouse's triangular roof, a carving of blind Justice, holding a scale before her, sitting above the entrance.

Court was already in session in one of the building's stately, wood-paneled courtrooms. Joseph Chilton sat at the front of the courtroom with his lawyer. The years of incarceration had not been kind to Joe, leaving him haggard, his hair turning grey on his head.

"Mister Chilton," the judge boomed from his seat before them, "I've heard from your lawyers. Now, I want to hear it from you. Why should this court grant you parole?"

Slowly, Joe stood up on unsteady legs, coughing as he nervously cleared his throat.

"Honestly, Your Honor, if I were you, I wouldn't," Joe said sadly, "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret the terrible thing I did. But if this court saw fit to grant me mercy, I would be eternally grateful for the chance to be with my children again."

"I see." the judge replied with an introspective nod before turning his attention towards the rest of the courtroom, "I understand we have a member of the Wayne family present. Would they like to say a few words?"

A look of horror crossed Joe's face as a murmur went through the courtroom. After a moment, Bruce slowly stood up, Kate and Tony watching him as he did. Joe was frozen stock still, staring up at the judge as Bruce rose to his feet behind him. There were a few quiet moments as Bruce stared at the back of Joe's head, his hand thrust into the pocket of his jacket. For a moment, it looked like Bruce was about to say something, but he instead abruptly turned away and left the room.

"Very well then," the judge said as he banged his gavel, "Court dismissed while we deliberate."

As the crowd began making its way out of the courtroom, Tony and Kate fell into step next to Jake, the years starting to turn his red hair grey.

"So, what now?" Kate questioned.

"Now they'll decide if he gets paroled or not," Jake answered.

"Do you think he will?" Kate asked.

"He got a plea deal when he confessed to the crime and he's been a model prisoner ever since," Jake replied.

"Hell, even I believe the guy didn't mean to do it," Tony added as he gave Kate an apologetic look, "So yeah, they're probably going to let him out."

"I can't believe it," Kate quietly raged, "He murdered my aunt and uncle. Why does he get to go back to his family?"

"I'm willing to bet you're not the only one who shares that sentiment," Tony commented.

"Where is Bruce?" Jake questioned, looking around at the crowd for any sign of his nephew.

Bruce stood near the entrance of the courthouse,carefully using a column to shield himself from the watchful eyes of the reporters waiting anxiously a few feet away. As he waited, a wave of excitement went through the reporters as they spotted and began to converge on Joe Chilton as he was led down the corridor by two corrections officers, his hands cuffed behind his back.

Seeing Joe, Bruce's heart began to hammer in his chest as sweat formed on his brow. Slowly, Bruce reached his hand into his jacket pocket, the metal object inside cool against his sweating palm. As the guards led Joe down the hall, he happened to look up and caught sight of Bruce. Joe's brown eyes widened in fear as they met Bruce's blue ones, before they fell to the hand concealed in the young man's pocket. Realization crossed Joe's features before he sighed and closed his eyes as the guards led him by Bruce.

Gritting his teeth, Bruce moved to pull the object out of his pocket, but was stopped when he suddenly an iron hard grip wrap around his wrist. Whipping his head around, Bruce found Jake looking at him with cold eyes. A look of surprise on his face, Bruce turned to look back at Joe as he passed. As he did, Joe opened his eyes and blinked in surprise before looking over his shoulder at Bruce in confusion. A moment later, the crowd swallowed Joe Chilton up and he was gone.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Jake whispered harshly.

"I….I…." Bruce muttered in reply, glancing at Kate and Tony as they stood behind Jake, watching in confusion.

"Come with me," Jake ordered in a tone that brokered no argument, dragging Bruce along with him by his grip on the young man's wrist, Tony and Kate following behind. They quickly ducked into a side hall, Jake shutting the door behind them.

"Dad, what's going on?" Kate questioned in confusion.

"Show me it," Jake stated, looking directly at Bruce and ignoring his daughter.

"Show you-" Bruce began to argue.

"Show me it!" Jake snapped, causing the others to jump in surprise.

Cowed, Bruce reached into his pocket before pulling out a revolver and holding it out for the others to see. Kate gasped in shock as Tony's eyes went wide.

"Jesus, Bruce," Tony said as he turned his attention from the gun to Bruce, "What were-"

Before Tony could finish, Kate lashed out with a punch, striking Bruce hard in the face. The blow caught Bruce completely off guard, sending him stumbling back against the wall behind him as he covered his face in pain. As Bruce recovered, Kate moved to hit him again, only stopped when her father reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"That's enough, Kate," Jake said sternly.

Kate looked at her father for a moment before wrenching her hand from his grasp as she turned to glare at Bruce.

"You asshole!" Kate seethed, angry tears welling up in her eyes, "How could you!?"

"He killed my parents, Kate!" Bruce argued, a bruise forming around his eye, "He deserves to die!"

"And who decides that?" Jake questioned, turning his attention back to Bruce, "You!?"

"Why not me!?" Bruce asked angrily in return, "I can't rely on the courts to get justice for my parents. I have to do it myself."

"That isn't justice, Bruce," Jake said coldly, "That's revenge."

"What's the difference?" Bruce questioned with hostility.

"Justice is about balance," Jake explained, "Revenge is about making yourself feel better."

"You're right, I would feel better if that man was dead," Bruce growled.

"Bruce-" Jake started to say.

"No, are you telling me you wouldn't kill the men who murdered your wife and child?" Bruce demanded, "That you wouldn't be justified in doing it!?"

"I'd be justified because I am a soldier," Jake replied, his anger rising, "And we would be at war!"

"How does that make any difference?" Bruce questioned.

"It makes every difference!" Jake exploded, prompting Bruce to take a step back in surprise, "Being a soldier isn't about killing people. It's about protecting them. The only reason a soldier kills someone is because the enemy has given them no other choice. That's what war is. You are not at war with Joseph Chilton!"

"You're so full of shit!" Bruce spat, "You'd do the same thing if you were in my position."

"I am in your position, Bruce," Jake growled, "Or did you forget your mother was my sister?"

"I should have killed him," Bruce said, looking away from Jake, "He ruined my life."

There was a pause as Jake glared at Bruce while the young man glared at the floor.

"You want someone to blame, Bruce?" Jake questioned, "Fine, I'll give you someone to blame."

Grabbing Bruce's arm, Jake began to drag the young man along with him.

"Come with me," Jake barked, leading Bruce out of the hall and towards the courthouse exit, the young man hissing in pain as his uncle's fingers dug into his arm.

"Dad!" Kate called, she and Tony chasing after them as they made their way out of the courthouse.

"Tony, take Kate home!" Jake called, barely glancing back at the two of them.

"Okay," Tony replied nervously, "Try not to kill him!"

"Dad, you can't just-" Kate began to argue.

"Kate!" Jake snapped as he paused on the steps and turned towards his daughter, "Go with Tony!"

Kate glared back at him but made no argument, allowing Jake to drag Bruce to a waiting car, forcing the young man into the passenger seat before he got in as well and drove away.

"Where are you taking me?" Bruce questioned.

"Look around you, Bruce," Jake stated, ignoring Bruce's question, "This city is dying."

"Dying?" Bruce asked in confusion, "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Don't you get it?" Jake questioned as he began driving towards Gotham's East End, "Have you forgotten everything your father taught you? Joe Chilton is a symptom of a disease. Corrupt men in power lining their pockets with cash while driving good people out of their homes and flooding the streets with drugs, creating new Joe Chilton's every day."

The car pulled to a stop outside a small, Italian restaurant.

"Men like the one you'll find in here," Joe stated as he looked at the restaurant.

"Who's in there?" Bruce asked.

"Salvatore Maroni," Jake answered, "One of the most powerful crime lords in this city along with the likes of Carmine Falcone and Silvio Mandfredi. They basically control Gotham….or at least their boss does."

"Their boss?" Bruce questioned in surprise, "Who's that?"

"One upon a time, it was Rex Calabrese," Jake answered, "Now days no one really knows. Whoever he is though, he has Falcone, Maroni, Manfredi and every other gang in this city and possibly beyond dancing to his tune."

"How do you know this Maroni guy is here?" Bruce questioned.

"Everyone knows where he is," Jake explained, "These guys walk around in broad daylight because everyone in the city is too scared to confront them."

"So, what?" Bruce questioned, narrowing his eyes at his uncle, "You want me to kill him?"

"No Bruce, I'm trying to teach you a lesson!" Jack snapped before sighing sadly, "But now I just want you to get out."

"Get out?" Bruce questioned incredulously, "Here?"

"Why are you afraid?" Jake questioned, "You're packing, aren't you?"

Bruce glared at his uncle in reply.

"I don't know where you went wrong but it must have been me. Certainly not your parents," Jake shook his head sadly at Bruce, "Your mother would be ashamed of you."

Barely containing his anger, Bruce got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him, the noise echoing off the closely packed buildings around him. As soon as the door was closed, Jake pulled away, Bruce watching as he went. As Jake's car disappeared, Bruce glanced around at his surroundings, taking a moment to look at the restaurant behind him before turning away and wandered over to one of Gotham's many docks.

Standing on the edge of the water, Bruce listened to the dirty seawater splash against the concrete wall beneath him as he looked out at the harbor.

Slowly, Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out the revolver hidden there. Holding it in his palm, Bruce looked down at the revolver, his mind flashing back to the night his parents were killed. His mother's screams echoed in his mind, silenced by the crack of a gunshot. The image of Joe Chilton stood before him in his mind, the smoking revolver shaking in his hand. A gun that looked just like the one in Bruce's hand.

A feeling of revulsion came over Bruce as he looked at the gun in his hand. He couldn't believe what he had almost done, the act he had been so sure of seemed singularly ludicrous now. Bruce had almost allowed himself to fall even further than the man who had killed his parents.

His mother really would be ashamed of him.

With a cry, Bruce hurled the gun at the harbor, the revolver falling into the water with a heavy plop. Bruce stood watching the ripples left by the gun for a moment, wiping away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Then, with a fire burning in his eyes, Bruce turned away from the harbor and began stalking back towards the restaurant.

Marching into the restaurant, Bruce brushed passed the maitre d', ignoring the man's request for him to stop. Entering the restaurant, Bruce glanced around, taking in the sight of the small, simple establishment.

A number people sat in the restaurant, looking up as the maitre d' called after him. Ignoring them, Bruce instead focused on a man sitting by himself in the back.

The man was of Italian descent with receding black hair and tanned skin. He wore a light blue suit and his rounded face gave him a pudgy look. He eyed Bruce with dark brown eyes as he began to approach.

Before Bruce could reach the man, another large man with a black leather jacket jumped up in front of the young man and barred his way, placing a thick hand on Bruce's shoulder to stop him.

"It's alright," the man said, putting down his utensils and wiping his mouth with a napkin, "I'll talk to him."

The man let Bruce pass after quickly patting him down for weapons.

"No gun?" the man questioned with a hint of amusement as Bruce sat across the table from him, "I'm insulted."

"I'm-" Bruce began to say.

"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne," the man said with a chuckle, "And I'm assuming you know who I am."

"Salvatore Maroni," Bruce stated simply.

"Please, call me Sal," the man replied, "Can I get you a drink? Food? Let me tell you, this place has the best meatballs in the city."

"No thanks," Bruce replied dourly, "I'm not hungry."

"Then tell me, Bruce, may I call you Bruce?" Sal questioned before continuing, "Tell me Bruce, why have you come here?"

"I came here to show you that not everyone in Gotham is afraid of you and those like you." Bruce replied as he glared at Sal.

Sal fell quiet for a moment, watching Bruce with his dark brown eyes. Then, abruptly, he laughed and shook his head at Bruce.

"Clearly, you don't know me as well as I thought you did," Sal commented before glancing around the restaurant, "Look around you, what do you see?"

Bruce glanced around the restaurant as well but didn't answer.

"I see two councilmen, a union official, a couple of off-duty cops and a judge," Sal continued, pointing out each of the men as he mentioned them. Suddenly, Sal reached under the table and pulled out a pistol, clicking off the safety as he leveled the gun at Bruce.

"I could shoot you right now and I not worry about it for a moment," Sal said, his friendly smile dropping into a cold scowl, "You know what that is?"

Bruce said nothing, distracted by the gun pointed at him.

"That's fear," Sal continued, "That's power you can't buy."

"I'm not afraid of you," Bruce said resolutely.

"That's because you came in here thinking you had nothing to lose," Sal said as the smile began to return to his face, a look that now that reminded Bruce of a hungry shark, "You didn't think it through though."

Bruce looked at Sal in confusion.

"What about your friends and family?" Sal questioned, "What would Tony Stark look like with a Columbian necktie? Would that pretty cousin of yours still look pretty with a bullet in her head? You already lost one cousin, Bruce, you really want to go two for two?"

Bruce went pale, shaking slightly with fear and anger.

"There it is," Sal commented, his shark-grin widening, "Now, you get it. Now, you know me."

Sal flicked his safety back on and set in on the table next to him before returning to his meal.

"People like you have so much to lose," Sal explained through a mouthful of food, "I mean, you think just because your mommy and daddy were killed, you know the ugly side of life? Trust me, you have no goddamned idea."

"I mean, look at you, for crying out loud!" Sal exclaimed, throwing his hands out towards Bruce, "You're Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, himself, heir apparent to one of the biggest companies in the world! You'd have to go a thousand miles to find someone who doesn't know your name."

"So don't waste my time and interrupt my dinner coming down here with all your misplaced anger, riding your high horse. You've never been desperate. You've never lived down here in the muck with the rest of us," Sal chuckled as if the whole exchange was a joke, "This is a world you don't understand, Bruce. And you always fear what you don't understand."

Bruce glared at Sal, gripping his pants so tightly his knuckles turned white. He glanced at the gun sitting next to Sal. Sal followed his gaze before laughing.

"Even after all that, you're still thinking about it, huh?" Sal questioned, "You going to shoot me with my own gun, Bruce?"

"I'm not going to shoot you," Bruce answered.

"Right, you'd probably be a little squeamish about something like that," Sal thought aloud, "So, what are you going to do then, Bruce? Beat me with it?"

Bruce did not reply.

"You've got spirit, Bruce, I'll give you that," Sal laughed, "More than your father at any rate?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bruce growled.

"I've heard stories about the night he died, "Sal answered with his shark-grin, "I heard he begged for his life. Can you believe that? Begged. Like a dog."

Bruce glared at Sal, eyes filled with rage before he leapt at Sal, flinging the plate holding his food against a nearby wall as he reached for the gun. Sal was quicker though, snatching the gun off the table before cracking Bruce across the side of his head with it. The blow sent Bruce reeling to the side as he slammed into the table, knocking it over as he crashed to the floor.

A hush fell over the restaurant, as three men near Sal quickly jumped to their feet while he rose from his seat and glared down at Bruce.

"Should we take care of him, Don Maroni?" one of the men questioned.

"No, we've all been that young," Sal answered with a shake of his head, "But make sure he knows to never show his face around here again."

Nodding, the men picked up Bruce and dragged him towards the back of the restaurant. Opening it, they flung Bruce out into a pile of trash cans that clattered to the ground. As Bruce struggled to pick himself up, two of the men grabbed his arms and held him steady while the third punched him hard in the stomach. As Bruce gasped for air, the thug punched him in the face, splitting his lip. The blow left Bruce hanging limply in the thugs' arms, prompting them to drop him to the ground.

"Do you require anything else, Mr. Wayne?" one of the thugs questioned with a mocking tone. Bruce groaned in reply, prompting the thugs to laugh as they went back into the restaurant, leaving Bruce laying on the ground, alone in the alley.

"You should have tipped better!" a hoarse voice laughed mockingly from the shadows. Groaning in pain, Bruce pushed himself up onto his hands and knees as he heard someone approaching him, the sound of footsteps accompanied by a rhythmic ticking noise.

Groggily lifting his head up, Bruce found an older man approaching him. He wore dirty, ragged clothes along with a black baseball cap that covered his grey hair. What jumped out at Bruce though were the dark-tinted glasses he wore and the white cane he used to tap at the ground in front of him.

"I don't have any money," Bruce said as he pushed himself to his feet.

"We both know that's bullshit," the man snorted, "But that's not why I'm here, Mr. Wayne."

"Then why-" Bruce began to say before blinking in surprise, "How do you know who I am?"

"You have a very recognizable face," the man answered.

"You're blind," Bruce stated in confusion.

"No shit, Sherlock," the man said with a snort of contempt, "I can also tell you just got your ass kicked."

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"The name's Stick," the man replied as he folded up his cane, "What would you say if I could make sure that you never get your ass kicked again?"

_Later,_

Detective James Gordon made his way up the steps to the small house he owned in Old Gotham. Age had given him new wrinkles around his face and his mustache had grown full and bushy, red as the hair on his head.

"Barbara!" Jim called as he stepped inside, "Barbara, I'm home!"

"We're in here, Dad!" a young voice called from another room. Following the sound, Jim stepped into his darkened living room. Two young girls sat a few feet from the television, the room illuminated by the bright flashes of light of the video game they were playing. One girl had red hair like his own that hung down to her shoulders, looking up at the screen with blue eyes despite the glare the television created on her glasses. Next to her was a girl of similar age with short brown hair. Jim also noticed a younger boy sitting on the couch, resembling the girl but with slightly longer hair.

"Hey Dad," the redhead greeted her eyes glued to the screen

"You know, you kids are going to go blind if you keep playing games in the dark like this," Jim commented as he turned a light on, the children hissing as their eyes tried to rapidly adjust to the change in lighting.

"Ugh, warn us when you're going to do that, Jim!" the brunette groaned as they continued playing, After another moment, Jim's daughter let out a whoop of joy and threw her hands into the air in victory as the other girl hung her head and groaned in defeat.

"No fair, Babs," the brunette groaned, "You cheated!"

"What?" Barbara questioned incredulously, "How did I cheat, Harper?"

"Everyone knows being naturally better at something is cheating," Harper argued.

"How is that cheating?" Barbara questioned, quirking an eyebrow at the other girl.

"It's the biggest cheat of all!" Harper declared.

"Harper's just a sore loser, Barbara," the boy giggled from the couch.

"No one asked you, Cullen!" Harper barked, causing the boy to giggle more.

Jim chuckled as well, glancing around the room.

"Where's JJ?" Jim questioned.

"He's in his room," Barbara answered hesitantly, "I….I had to give him a time out."

"What for?" Jim asked.

"He….wasn't playing nice," Barbara explained, looking over at Cullen. Following her gaze, Jim looked over at Cullen as the boy gingerly touched his arm where the officer had no doubt a bruise had formed.

"I'll talk to him," Jim said resolutely.

"He's upset because we haven't seen Mom in awhile," Barbara stated.

"Barbara, you know your mother is sick," Jim said with a sigh, "The doctors need time to-"

"I know, Dad, I know," Barbara interjected with a sigh of her own. "It's just…."

"Just what, honey?" Jim pressed gently.

"Do you think JJ might be sick too?" Barbara finished, a concerned look on her face.

"I don't know," Jim admitted, "But if he is, we'll get help for him too."

Barbara nodded thoughtfully in reply.

"How was your day?" Barbara questioned as she tried to change the subject.

"As good as any day spent on crowd control at the courthouse can be," Jim sighed as he sat on the couch next to Cullen.

"Did you see my dad?" Cullen questioned.

"I caught a glimpse of him," Jim replied, "He looks as well as can be expected."

"You think he'll get out?" Harper asked quietly.

"I think there's a chance," Jim answered, "Your father has always been sorry about what he did and he's been focused on doing his time. He could definitely get out on parole."

"I guess we'll be out of your hair then, Jim," Harper stated with a half-hearted smile.

"Harper, we didn't take you and your brother in after your mother….I mean, after her…." Jim trailed off as he tried to find the right words, giving Harper a sad look.

"It's alright, Jim," Harper said with a small snort, "I'm a big girl. I know what an overdose is."

"What I'm trying to say is that you two are always welcome here," Jim stated sincerely.

"Thanks," Harper replied as Barbara reached over and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug.

"Now, that's enough talk about work and family," Jim said as he leaned back against the couch cushion, "Show me what's so special about this game of yours."

Smiling, the girls turned away and began their game again, Jim grinning as he watched them play.

A/N: This chapter turned out to be a long one, but I had a lot of fun writing it and tweaking things both from the way the movie told it and my original version did. I hope you guys liked the changes and the characters who showed up here. As always, feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later, True Believers!


	5. Shipping Out

**Chapter 4: Shipping Out**

Water lapped gently against the docks as Bruce sat on an empty crate, looking up at the blind man named Stick. Between them sat a barrel in which a fire was burning, casting dancing shadows across both their faces. The cut on Bruce's lip had stopped bleeding and an ugly bruise was forming on his cheek. A bump had also formed on his head, covered by hair crusted with dried blood.

"You want me to do what?" Bruce questioned skeptically.

"I already told you," Stick said with a hint of annoyance, "I want you to take any identification you have and burn it."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Bruce asked incredulously.

"Because people are going to be looking for you and you're not going to want to be found," Stick explained.

"Why would people be looking for me?" Bruce questioned, still not understanding.

"Because we're leaving," Stick answered, "Do you have any other stupid questions?"

"Why the hell would I go anywhere with you?" Bruce asked.

"You agreed to let me teach you, didn't you?" Stick questioned.

"No," Bruce answered, "I agreed to hear you out. So far, you haven't convinced me to do any more than that."

"What do you want from me then, Bruce?" Stick asked.

"I want to know who you are and why you're suddenly so interested in me," Bruce demanded.

"I've always been interested in you, Bruce," Stick replied, "Ever since your parents died. Now was the best time to approach you about it."

"Why now?" Bruce questioned.

"Let me ask you the same question, Bruce," Stick replied, "Why now? Why did you try to kill Joseph Chilton today?"

"You know about that?" Bruce asked, astonished.

"I see a lot of stuff," Stick stated enigmatically, "Now, answer the question."

"Because he was going to get out," Bruce answered hesitantly, "I had the opportunity and if I didn't take it there would be no justice for my parents."

"But why do this?" Stick pressed, "It's been eight years. Most people find some way to move on in that time."

"I tried to," Bruce answered quietly, "When I was a kid, I tried to be the best student or the best athlete. I figured if I did something my parents would be proud of, then it would help me move on."

"But it didn't," Stick surmised.

"But it didn't," Bruce echoed in agreement, "All it did was reminded me that they were gone. So I started going the other way."

"Some good, old fashioned hedonism," Stick stated with a smirk.

"Something like that," Bruce agreed, "I started partying, drinking, driving and crashing expensive cars."

"Tabloids must have loved that," Stick observed.

"Don't they always?" Bruce asked rhetorically, "I didn't care though, no matter how much Alfred and my uncle lectured me. It made me forget my parents and my pain and I surrounded myself with people who only encouraged me."

"When did that end?" Stick questioned.

"Very recently," Bruce admitted, "I managed to graduate and get into Princeton on my name alone. Things got even worse from there. I started getting into drugs and gave up any pretenses of going to class. If things kept going like they were I would probably have ended up addicted to cocaine or something by the end of the school year."

"What changed?" Stick pressed.

"I saw the news about Chilton getting parole," Bruce answered, "I was at a party, high off of prescription drugs, with a willing girl in my lap and I saw it playing on a TV someone had left on. It knocked me cold sober. All those years of hiding from the pain and it knocks me flat as if I hadn't been trying at all. I realized what I had to do and that led me here."

"What happened to Princeton?" Stick asked out of curiosity.

"They threw me out," Bruce answered, "Getting into a fight on top of all the other stuff I had done proved too much."

"You got into a fight?" Stick questioned in amusement.

"Not so much of a fight," Bruce admitted, "This tool I was hanging around with, another trust fund baby named Oliver Queen, he saw the news and decided to make a crack about it. So I punched him in the face."

"I can't say I would have handled it better," Stick admitted with a laugh.

"Well, like I said, the college didn't find it quite so funny," Bruce stated, "So I bought a gun and made my way back here."

"And that, in turn, led you here," Stick surmised, nodding his head.

"Would seem so," Bruce agreed, before leveling his gaze at Stick, "So, why should I let you train me?"

"Because I can give you the skills to take justice into your own hands," Stick explained, "You've seen now where real corruption lies. Not in people like Chilton but those in power who make them what they are. People you can't take down by hiding a revolver in your pocket."

"And how exactly is a blind man going to teach me that?" Bruce questioned dubiously.

"I can show you, if you're willing to get your ass kicked again," Stick replied with a smirk.

"I'm not going to fight you," Bruce answered, shaking his head at Stick.

"What are you, a pussy?" Stick questioned, his mocking grin growing.

"You're not going to bait me," Bruce stated, glaring at Stick.

"Is it genetic?" Stick pushed, "Was your father a pussy when Chilton pulled that gun on him?"

There was a tense, quiet moment as Bruce glared daggers at Stick, the blind man meeting it with an insufferable grin. With a shout of rage, Bruce exploded forward, aiming to leap upon Stick. The blind man moved out of the way however, faster than Bruce would have believed, and tripped him with his cane as he flew by, sending the young man sprawling across the ground.

"Come on," Stick chided as Bruce picked himself, "You must have a little more skill than that."

Straightening up, Bruce threw a punch at Stick, who easily dodged by moving his head slightly to the side. Bruce followed up with another punch that Stick deflected with his walking cane. As Bruce tried to sweep Stick's legs out from under him with a low kick, the blind man nimbly jumped over the attack.

"So, you do have some training," Stick observed as he easily dodged Bruce's attacks, "Guess you took some lessons during that "make my parents proud" phase, huh? Let me guess, Kung fu? Karate? Tae kwon do?"

Reaching up, Stick grabbed Bruce by the wrist, stopping a punch that had been aimed at his face inches away from his nose.

"Karate," Stick concluded with a grin before he gave Bruce's arm a quick twist, causing the young man to hiss in pain. With Bruce briefly incapacitated, Stick struck with a sharp kick to the young man's chest, sending him stumbling back. As Bruce caught his footing, clenching his chest in pain, Stick rushed at him faster than the young man could react. Swinging his cane, Stick struck Bruce on the side of the head before following up by hitting him on the back of the leg, forcing the young man down on one knee. Before Bruce could react, Stick stepped forward and drove his knee into his face, knocking the young man to the ground.

Bruce groaned in pain as he lay on the ground, looking blurry eyed up at the black sky above before the image of Stick appeared, standing over him.

"You're not really blind, are you?" Bruce questioned, blinking his eyes in an effort to clear his eyes.

"Oh, I am," Stick said, taking off his glasses, revealing his dull, unfocused eyes, "Since the day I was born, in fact."

"Then how can you fight like that?" Bruce questioned as he pulled himself up in a seated position.

"A lot of training, among other things," Stick answered, "I assume that this was a sufficient demonstration of what I can do."

"It was," Bruce answered as he pulled himself to his feet, "So, say I agree to train with you, what do you get out of it?"

"I get an ally in my crusade," Stick explained.

"Crusade?" Bruce questioned, quirking an eyebrow at the blind man, "A crusade against what?"

"The same thing you wish to fight," Stick elaborated, "Corruption and injustice."

"That's why you want to train me," Bruce surmised, "Because of what happened to me."

"There are no better warriors against injustice than those who have been victims to it," Stick stated sagely, "And in order to do this, you need to disappear, devote yourself fully to it. You can't have someone coming along and dragging you back to your old life, understand?"

Bruce nodded solemnly.

"Then you already know what you have to do," Stick stated as he gestured to the fire burning in the metal trash can nearby, Bruce looked at the burning flames for a few moments before walking over to them. Flinching slightly at the heat radiating from the fire, Bruce reached into his pockets and pulled out his wallet and cellphone, flipping his wallet open so that he could look at the ID with his picture. After another moment, Bruce looked back at the fire before throwing both his wallet and his phone into the fire.

Bruce then took off his coat and prepared to throw it in the fire as well, but was stopped by Stick.

"What?" Bruce questioned.

"Don't burn that," Stick replied, "It's a nice coat."

"People will recognize me if I keep wearing expensive things like this," Bruce argued.

"I never said you had to wear it," Stick responded as he took the coat from Bruce's hands and began putting it on as the young man watched in shock.

"What?" Stick questioned. somehow aware of Bruce's expression as he finished putting on the coat, "It's a nice coat."

Bruce could only shake his head at the blind man.

"You made a good choice, Bruce," Stick commented, before tilting his head as if he was listening to something, "Just in time too."

"Why's that?" Bruce questioned.

"We have a boat to catch," Stick explained before signalling for Bruce to follow him as he began walking away from the burning trash can and down the docks. Following Stick, the two of them came to a large cargo ship that was moored at one of the larger docks. Bruce watched as men scurried about the ship and the dock, apparently preparing to depart.

"I hope you remembered your ticket," Stick commented with a chuckle as he made his way towards the metal gangplank that led up to the ship's deck. As they approached, a burly sailor noticed them and cut them off.

"Hey!" he called as he stepped in front of them, "You can't go-"

The man was cut off as Stick turned his attention towards him, lowering his sunglasses to level a blind glare at the sailor.

"O-Oh….it's you," the sailor stated, fear leaking into his face, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"I thought as much," Stick replied as he put his sunglasses back into place, "I trust you don't need to see our passports?"

"N-No," the sailor quickly replied as he stepped out of their way, "You and your friend can go right ahead and board."

"Thank you," Stick replied as he began making his way up the gangplank, Bruce following behind, sparing a glance towards the now fearful sailor as he passed by.

"What was that about?" Bruce questioned as they boarded the ship.

"My reputation proceeds me," Stick explained as he stepped onto the ship's deck, "I'm rather well known in certain circles."

"What circles are those?" Bruce asked as he followed Stick across the deck.

"You'll find out soon enough," Stick answered cryptically.

Following Stick, Bruce was led into the bowels of the ship, the metal echoing around them with every step.

"So, where are we going?" Bruce questioned.

"France," Stick answered, "Marseille, to be exact."

"What's there?" Bruce asked as Stick stopped in front of one room and opened the door to it.

"Your first test," Stick answered as he flicked on a light switch, the weak revealing a small room with a bed in the wall, a porthole window and little else, "Your training for it starts tomorrow."

Bruce had other questions he wanted to ask, but it seemed Stick did not want to answer any as the blind man simply turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him. Bruce quietly looked at the closed, metal door for a few moments, pondering not for the first time if he had made the right decision.

As Bruce thought, he felt the boat lurch around him as the distant, heavy hum of the engines reached his ears. Turning towards the porthole, Bruce watched as the boat began to slowly pull away from the wharf. Leaning against the wall, Bruce watched as Gotham was slowly but surely pulled away from him.

"I promise I will come back," Bruce whispered, "I promise I will come back and make this city better. I will drive out the criminals and the corrupt who have invested this city. And when I do, no one will have to be scared anymore."

_The next day,_

The day greeted Bruce with a punch to the side of the head as he was sleeping. Letting out a startled cry of pain, Bruce found himself helpless as someone grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him off the cot he had been sleeping on.

Bruce let out a grunt of pain as he fell onto the hard, metal flour. Opening his eyes, he found Stick standing over him, flanked by four large sailors.

"Rise and shine, Bruce," Stick said, grinning down at the young man.

"What the hell is this, Stick!?" Bruce growled, trying to shake his head clear.

"This is the start of your training," Stick explained before turning his attention to the sailors, "Pick him up and bring him outside."

Nodding, two of the sailors stepped up on either side of Bruce before reaching down and grabbing him by his arms. Growling, Bruce started to struggle against their grips but he stopped when one of the thugs punched him hard in the head, stunning him. The sailors then lifted Bruce up by his arms and dragged him out of the room, Stick and the other sailors following them out.

Bruce remained stunned for the trip, his vision not clearing until the two sailors dropped him unceremoniously to the deck. Groaning, Bruce managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees before looking around.

They were out on the deck of the ship, the towers of shipping containers looming above them. The ship had traveled through the night and, looking off the side of the boat, Bruce could see the ocean stretching on to the horizon in every direction. A strong wind blew across the deck, chilling Bruce to the bone as the smell of the sea filled the air.

Bruce was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts by a boot connecting hard with his stomach. Gasping for breath, Bruce rolled onto his side and found the sailors had surrounded him again.

"What kind of training is this?" Bruce questioned, holding his stomach in pain.

"It's more than likely you will have to fight multiple opponents at at once at one time or another," Stick explained, "You might as well start practicing."

As Stick finished speaking, another sailor moved to kick Bruce. Seeing the blow coming, Bruce grabbed onto the foot, softening the blow and holding the sailor's foot in place. Before the sailor could try and pull his foot back, Bruce twisted it to the side, sending the man falling to the deck.

As Bruce rolled to his feet, another sailor ran up and punched him hard in the face, sending the young man stumbling backwards. As a second sailor rushed him, Bruce ducked under the man's wild punch before driving his own fist into the sailor's stomach. As the man gasped in pain and doubled over, Bruce quickly stood up and gave the sailor a hard shove, sending the man stumbling back, causing him to trip over the first sailor as the other man began to stand up, knocking them both to the deck.

The second sailor rushed Bruce again, striking the young man in face a second time with his meaty fist. As Bruce stumbled back, the fourth sailor stepped up behind the young man and wrapped his arms around Bruce's in a full nelson. As Bruce struggled against the sailor's grip, the second ran up and punched him hard in the gut. Bruce began to sag as the air was forced out of his lungs, but the sailor held him up, allowing the sailor in front of him to hit the young man a second time.

Grunting in anger, Bruce fought to get his legs back under himself. As the sailor moved to hit him again, Bruce managed to lift his legs up before kicking the other man hard in the chest with both his feet, sending the sailor stumbling away. Quickly lowering his feet again, Bruce slammed his heel against the foot of the sailor holding him. The sailor howled in pain as he released his grip on Bruce and reached down to grab his injured foot, allowing Bruce to spin around and kick him across the chin, knocking the man to the deck.

As Bruce turned around, another sailor ran up and speared him with a tackle, slamming the young man against the side of a shipping container, the impact echoing with a hollow boom. Growling, Bruce put his hands together before slamming them down on the man's back, knocking him down.

As Bruce tried to recover, one of the sailors rushed at him and punched him hard in the face, knocking him back against the shipping container. With his head swimming and his knees growing weak, Bruce was barely aware of the man moving to throw another punch at him. Reacting quickly, Bruce reached up and deflected the punch, causing the sailor to slam his fist into the shipping container. Letting out a sharp cry of pain, the sailor tried to pull back, clenching his fist, but Bruce reached out and grabbed hold of his shoulder before pulling the man forward and slamming him against the shipping container, the metal reverberating with a loud clang as the sailor stumbled backwards before falling to the deck.

Bruce stumbled away from the container, watching the sailors laying on the ground as he desperately tried to catch his breath. His respite was short lived though as the second sailor ran up and punched him hard in the stomach. Bruce doubled over in pain, clutching his bruised abdomen as the sickly sweet taste of bile filled the back of his throat. Grabbing Bruce by the hair, the sailor jerked the young man's head up before punching Bruce hard in the face, sending him, causing him to collapse to the deck.

As Bruce lay groaning on the ground, his foggy brain desperately trying to reorient himself, the sailor straddled the young man and sat down hard on his chest, knocking out what little air remained in Bruce's lungs. Grinning savagely, the sailor threw a punch at Bruce, striking the young man in the face as he limply tried to defend himself. The sailor continued to rain blows down on Bruce, drawing blood from the young man's mouth and cheeks.

As the sailor cocked his fist for another blow, Bruce snarled in fury before slamming his fist into the man's side in the area of his kidney. As the sailor gasped in pain, Bruce hit him half a dozen more times in the same place, forcing the man to double over in an effort to protect himself. As he did, Bruce reached out and grabbed the sailor's shoulders before rolling over so he was on top of the other man.

Roaring, his body fueled solely by his anger, Bruce hit the man in the over and over again with wild, flailing punches. Blood splattered as Bruce's fists connected with the sailor's face, droplets spreading across the deck and dirtying the young man's knuckles. With a final, exhausted cry, Bruce hit the sailor hard on the chin, the blow accompanied by a crack that he dimly hoped was the other man's chin and not his own knuckles.

Panting with exertion, Bruce rolled off the sailor as the man lay groaning on the deck, the young pushing himself to his unsteady feet, wondering if he was swaying due to the rocking of the boat or the overwhelming exhaustion he felt.

"There," Bruce grunted, his words slurred by his cut and swelling lips as he tried to locate Stick through two black eyes, "Was that good enough for you!?"

"It was," Bruce heard Stick say from behind him, "Now, we move on to lesson number two."

As Bruce turned to face Stick, he found himself blindsided by a blow that sent him spinning to the floor. His strength spent, Bruce could do nothing but lay facedown on the ground, groaning in pain as his vision began to darken.

"Always be on your guard," Bruce heard Stick say, his voice distorted like the young man was hearing it through water, "You never know when the next fight is going to start."

And with that, Bruce faded into oblivion.

A/N: Hey guys, been a few months since I've updated this one. This chapter was a little harder to get through, though it was great to stretch my fight scene muscles again. Really tried to convey how desperate this fight was for Bruce, hoped it came across. As always, feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later, True Believers!


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